Sherlock Gotta Have It
by Baker-Street-Potter-Head
Summary: It all started when Sherlock Holmes unintentionally saw Molly Hooper naked for the first time...xx Now a series of dirty-minded Sherlock one-shots xx
1. Shower Room Temptation

_Hello all...now this is designed as a one shot but I am considering doing a series of them exploring our favourite detective's favourite kinks, if you will. For now, I hope you enjoy this for what it is, a dirty bit of fun. Thank you..._

* * *

It all started when Sherlock Holmes unintentionally saw Molly Hooper naked for the first time; it wasn't _his_ fault he just happened to need something and pick the lock to her flat when she was taking a shower. He had heard the distinctive sounds coming from her bathroom and sighed, approaching entirely unaware of what he was about to encounter. He had been frozen to the spot in her doorway, intending to announce himself and accept the consequences but found he couldn't. In the dimly lit room, Sherlock saw there was soap and steam and skin; lots of skin, skin he had never even _seen_ of Molly's before. The sight was pure ecstasy but the soft sighs she emitted were absolutely heavenly. He knew it was wrong to watch her but Sherlock found himself smiling at how she was so relaxed and normal; he knew if she saw him she'd be reduced to a blushing, embarrassing mess...it's what he did to her. Seeing Molly being just Molly was perfect and he wasn't going to ruin it; little did he know, the longer he stared and allowed his eyes to wander to places they _really _shouldn't, his mind was categorising each and every segment to revisit in his dreams, most likely. Molly had turned around suddenly and only just missed Sherlock ducking out of the bathroom. When he dared to peer back inside, she had begun to shampoo her hair and her eyes had drifted closed; Sherlock narrowed his eyes, leaning in to watch her run her fingers through her hair - he had almost blacked out when Molly bent forwards to caress her legs, humming a tune he didn't recognise. She soon straightened and arched her back, tipping her head back under the water to thoroughly rinse; before he knew it, Sherlock's jaw had dropped open and he had clapped a hand to muffle any sound that might escape. He decided, as Molly turned the water off and moved to step out, he had seen enough and began backing away slowly; whatever he needed from her could wait. However, as Sherlock quietly closed her door behind him and ruffled his hair, he couldn't exactly remember what is was he actually needed...

* * *

It was now two days after this incident and Sherlock could avoid Bart's no longer:

Murder victim, body with Molly. Appreciate the help. GL

Sherlock sighed deeply; he really couldn't put it off any longer. He tried to ignore what he had seen but it was impossible. Every time Sherlock closed his eyes, he was helpless to stop a collection of hot, steamy situations involving himself and Molly - and the occasional shower - from entering his brain. He was certain distance was the key; if he couldn't see her, his mind will eventually allow him to delete the image. John was frowning at him from the kitchen table.

"What's the matter with you?" He spoke with a large amount of cereal in his mouth and Sherlock's gaze momentarily settled on his curious flatmate, bringing his hands under his chin and furrowing his brow in thought.

"Have you ever done something you know is wrong but...failed to feel guilty?" Sherlock asked, fixing his gaze onto the ceiling. John looked suspicious as he slowly chewed his breakfast, shaking his head. Finally, he swallowed.

"Sherlock, what have you done?" John's worry only grew when Sherlock didn't answer, choosing instead to ignore him and jump to his feet. Without another word, he was pulling on his coat and rushing from the flat, hastily stuffing his phone back into his pocket. John shook his head and grumbled incoherently to himself as he disappeared to dress.

* * *

He had spent most of the morning at the crime scene and managed to conclude the man had drowned in his own bath water; all he needed to discover now was how. The second he placed his gloved hand to the doors leading to the morgue, Sherlock was hit by a montage of images of what he had seen two nights ago. He shivered and, bracing himself, gently pushed the door open immediately suppressing a deep groan; she was bent over picking up something from the floor. Sherlock gulped and reached out subconsciously, suddenly remembering she wasn't his to touch. She was _Tom's. _He scowled and pulled his hands back, clasping them behind his back and clearing his throat. Molly straightened and smiled widely.

"Hi, Sherlock...I suppose you want to see the drowning victim Greg sent in..." she was wandering over to one of the slabs, Sherlock silently following her; she couldn't see how low his gaze was focused, "...there are no signs of any injuries but that's why you're here, right?" Molly frowned when he didn't answer and reached for her equipment, "...Sherlock?"

"Yes, of course," he shook himself and wandered around to the other side of the slab, cheeks slightly pinker and avoiding her gaze. He bent over the body and narrowed his eyes, "...business man, probably under a lot of stress, big deadline approaching. He-" Sherlock stopped abruptly when an unpermitted sound of Molly's sighing entered his mind. He cleared his throat to shift the obvious huskiness he has bound to have developed, "...he was expecting a meeting this particular morning. Can I see his belongings?"

Molly nodded and wandered over to her desk, retrieving the box and placing it on her tray near Sherlock. He inspected the items and frowned at how easy it was.

"As I expected, he was meeting a deadline..." he held up a piece of paper, purposely not looking at her, "an important one, apparently. Everyone needs..." he swallowed, shaking his head, "a stress release factor. His happened to be a weakness for a particular white powder. He unintentionally overdosed and drowned. His dealer most probably tampered with the substance..." sure enough, there was an empty plastic packet in his pocket and Sherlock gave a small smile. Molly nodded, impressed, "if we were to run some tests, I am certain as to what we'd find."

Molly smiled widely and nodded, taking the samples on her tray towards the doors; Sherlock was following a short distance behind her. They reached the end of the corridor in a short time even though Sherlock appeared out of breath. She reached for the lift but Sherlock shook his head.

"We should take the stairs, it's quicker. After you."

Molly smiled acceptingly and moved through the door he was holding open, quite impatiently. She stopped at the bottom of the stairs to adjust her samples, glancing out of the corner of her eye to see Sherlock waiting too. She raised her eyebrows and started to move up to the lab; Molly attempted conversation during the one flight of stairs they had to take but found her every word ignored. Finally, they reached the familiar lab room and busied themselves with running their analyses and completing the case. Sherlock gritted his teeth forcefully and clenched his fists every time his skin accidentally brushed against hers. After what felt like hours of peering into the microscope and swapping different samples, Sherlock retrieved his phone from his pocket.

Cocaine overdose. Drowned in his bath water. Large amounts in his system. Dealer probably long gone after hearing of the death. You can inform the press. Case closed...barely a three. SH

Ok, but it's not like you had anything better to do, is it? Thanks. GL

He tucked his phone away and sighed, rolling his shoulders and peering in Molly's direction. She was chatting on the phone to Tom and Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"...yeah, well...whatever. Tell Mum I said 'hi' and that I'll see her at the weekend. Ok? Bye, Tommy..." she glanced over at Sherlock who was shaking his head with a slightly relieved smile. She lowered her voice, "...yeah, he is, why?" There was a moment before Molly blushed and giggled, "...oh, shut up, don't be so filthy! How's Amy?" Another pause and Sherlock resumed his staring, tilting his head for a better view when Molly turned, chuckling, "...I bet she is, she hasn't got long now. Give her my love and you look after her _and _my nephew! No...you _can't_ call him that...I've got to go before Mike gets back...shut _up_, bye..." she cut off and shook her head, still chuckling to herself.

Sherlock was so absorbed in his steamy-shower-naked skin filled thoughts he hadn't noticed Molly move over and was talking to him a low voice; this only served to increase the intensity of his vivid imagination and the hot shower was replaced with his bedroom-

"Sherlock!" She gently tapped his shoulder and Sherlock shook his head, lifting his gaze from her chest; he hadn't even realised his eyes had settled there. Molly folded her arms, "...bloody hell, didn't you get a good enough look the other night?"

Molly couldn't help but burst into a fit of giggles at the look Sherlock was giving her. Feeling the burn in his face, Sherlock finally rolled his eyes and sighed, turning away.

"I made a mistake. Anyway, you didn't say anything." **Like she would. **As expected, Molly chuckled, leaning on the bench.

"Well, at first I was embarrassed, yeah...but usually when someone makes a mistake like that they leave immediately," Sherlock finally faced her and noticed she was biting into her lip, "...you stayed for almost ten minutes. I'm sure that was more than enough time to realise you'd made a mistake," she started running her fingers along the collar of his shirt, brushing his perfect neck whenever she could. Sherlock was blinking quickly, his blue eyes burning into her brown, "...mmm, when I noticed you were still there, I thought I'd have some _fun_...a little show, if you like. Did you like what you saw? It was...all for you.

Sherlock sprang out of his stool and hurried out of the lab without another word. Molly blinked in confusion, biting her lip out of fear she'd stepped out of line. However, Sherlock reappeared almost a second later and was watching her impatiently.

"Well? Are you coming or not?" There was no mistaking the deep, husky tone to his voice but Molly couldn't resist messing with him.

"Where to?" She gave a look of pure innocence but Sherlock was in no mood for games. He wanted her; there was no point denying it anymore, not he was this close.

"Where do you think? Baker Street, of course," he was shifting on his feet in agitation and Molly smirked, folding her arms.

"I'm working." It was now Sherlock's turn to smirk at her response, tilting his head and tutting.

"Yes but sex in the workplace is highly unprofessional, Molly. It is better to go to my flat."

With a final smirk, Sherlock departed the lab and Molly bustled around, hastily tidying her things away and collecting her stuff; her reports will have to wait until tomorrow.

* * *

John hadn't even bothered to follow Sherlock to the crime scene and Bart's; he had made it quite clear his assistance wasn't required. Anyway, he'd already solved it by the looks of the updated news article he had open in another tab:

TREVOR WILLIAMS MURDER ENQUIRY

_This afternoon, Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade of Scotland Yard informed waiting press officials the much loved MP had-_

The door to 221B flew open and John jumped, turning to see a most unexpected sight. Sherlock and Molly fell into the flat, forcefully joined at the mouth and their frantic hands were tugging at each other's shirts. John raised his eyebrows as Sherlock backed them towards his bedroom; before he could nudge the door open, Molly jumped up and wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling his hair less than gently. John shook his head and blinked repeatedly, focusing back on the computer.

'-_passed away from a suspected drug overdose. Close family members have been informed and thank the public for their support. A source believes-'_

Sherlock's bedroom door opened again and he rushed forwards, his purple shirt hanging open and belt unbuckled. The state of his hair was unbelievable not to mention the lipstick smears all over his face.

"Where are the-"

"Bathroom," John grimaced, nodding towards the bathroom. Sherlock hastily departed, returning almost immediately and dashing back to his bedroom. The doctor tried to block the audible sighing sounds he heard by burying himself in his webpage.

_'-the case was solved by none other than Scotland Yard's aid, Mr. Sherlock Holmes although, Inspector Lestrade denies this, "Sherlock Holmes' involvement in this particular case was very limited. He-'_

"Oh, _God_."

"I suppose so...yes...but...I prefer Sherlock."

It was this that made John slam his laptop closed and gather his coat, desperately heading for anywhere but the flat. At the sound of the door slamming, Sherlock lifted his head from Molly's damp chest and stilled his hands, causing her to frown. He smirked down at her.

"He's gone."

"Oh, marvellous...do you mind continuing...if it's not too much trouble..." her sarcastic, breathless voice rang out. She jerked her hips to prove her point and Sherlock chuckled, returning his mouth to her body.

"My pleasure."

Molly moaned in bliss when Sherlock re-entered, sucking at her throat and chest; his hands were roaming all over her body and he couldn't believe how much _better _this was. Why didn't he march into her bathroom and take her then? Her hands were back in his hair, scratching his scalp vigorously and yanking forcefully; he groaned at this action, he never realised he'd enjoy having his hair pulled so much. Molly's legs wrapped around him now which had them locked in a delicious position, meeting each other's thrusts hard. Her nails were raking down his hard, well-muscled chest; Sherlock was surprised when he was suddenly yanked by the hair to meet her lips hungrily, losing themselves in each other and finally letting go with a simultaneous swallowed moan. After collapsing next to each other, hands entwined and breathing heavily, Molly glanced around the room. Their clothes surrounded the bedroom and Molly breathed out peacefully, feeling thoroughly shagged. She looked over and raised her eyebrows; Sherlock was lounging with one arm behind his head lazily, the other placing a cigarette between his lips.

"Don't look at me like that...I need it..." he sighed; Molly swallowed at how attractive his smoking was. She pouted.

"You were doing so well..." she cuddled against him, breathing in his intoxicating smell and cigarette smoke. He chuckled.

"Why, thank you...you weren't so bad, either."

Molly rolled her eyes and grinned widely. They remained silent for several moments, listening to each other's breathing; Sherlock's eyes had closed and he was clearly in his mind palace. He returned when he felt Molly jab his side.

"So...am I getting dressed and leaving, forgetting this ever happened or...what?" She asked nervously, biting her lip. Sherlock rolled his eyes, a cheeky smirk on his face.

"Don't be silly, we haven't tried the shower yet." Molly met his eyes and her smirk matched his...

* * *

_xx Thank you for reading...if you'd like to see more please let me know (they'd all revolve around Sherlock's filthy mind, lol) xx_


	2. Good Golly, Miss Molly

_Hello everyone...I hope you like Sherlock's filthy mind :) If not, this chapter/story may not be for you. ehehehe xx_

* * *

"Ah, Molly...could you wheel out Mr.-"

Sherlock stopped dead when he looked up from his phone, gaping at the small pathologist who was scrubbing her hands clean. There was something different about her appearance today; the usual lab coat and sensible ensemble were present only today there was the added joy of the thick pair of black glasses she wore on her nose. Sherlock had completely forgotten about the sentence he was supposed to be finishing, choosing instead to openly stare at her; he admired how it gave her an authoritive look and shuddered at the thought of the authoritarian spilling out of her - this brought an un-permitted image of Molly wearing the glasses with his riding crop in hand to surface to the front of his mind. It did nothing to stop his open-mouthed gaping or cease Molly's confusion. He cleared his throat.

"...uh, Mr. Jones...I need to..." he trailed off when his eyes seemed to want to roam over her face.

Molly nodded with a heavy sigh, pushing the slipping glasses up her nose; Sherlock whimpered and was very grateful it went unheard. He couldn't take his eyes off of her as she pulled the corpse from the drawer and began explaining what she had found. It was a while until Sherlock realised he hadn't been listening to her, just staring at her now enhanced eyes, the brown so much more visible. She was still talking when he interrupted.

"Contacts...misplaced?" It was semi-coherent which seemed to be good enough for Molly. She chuckled to herself and shrugged.

"Yeah, you could say that. Toby was playing last night and he ran off with them. These are so _old_...I haven't worn them since Uni. I look like an owl," she chuckled again, pushing the slipping glasses up her nose. Sherlock nodded politely, deciding against asking her if it's likely the lenses would fog up when they had sex - he'd save that for the practical.

"Well, it's lucky owls just happen to be my favourite bird," the words had escaped before he could stop them. Ignoring her raised eyebrow at his suspicious behaviour, he stooped over the body and began muttering to himself, "...student, Art judging by the stains to his fingers, lived alone, cause of death: substantial blood loss from-," he paused when he saw Molly's brown eyes very noticeably peering over the other side of the bench. Her brow knitted in concentration and the glasses were slipping down again; what he wouldn't give to push them up with his tongue. He swallowed and cleared his throat, straightening up and speaking much quicker, "...he fell down the stairs at his accommodation. He lived alone so it was his error, there was no murder. There is no evidence of a struggle otherwise there'd be bruises. Conclusion: he tripped, slipped or simply fell. Thank you Molly, I shall inform Lestrade."

He hurried away without a second glance and Molly was left standing awkwardly, if slightly breathless.

* * *

He hadn't been to Bart's for three days since that incident and it was beginning to annoy John. Lack of a case and home studies had been his excuse but he had exhausted all his possible experiments; he needed a specimen from Bart's to study but he wasn't keen on going - he didn't even know he had a thing for glasses. He shifted in his chair, hugging his knees to his chest and John gritted his teeth, gripping the paper tightly.

"You're over here again. Why are you not with your wife? What possessed you to buy that awful aftershave? Why are you ignoring her texts? Are you-"

"For God's sake, Sherlock, go to Bart's, get a case or...go for a walk. Just stop...that," he waved vaguely at his friend and Sherlock scowled.

"I am not bored..." the detective tilted his head, clicking his tongue, "...it's Mary's mother, isn't it?"

"That's it, get out...don't come back until you solve a case or organise your thoughts," he hauled Sherlock to his feet and marched him towards the door of the flat, slamming it closed behind him and sinking back into his chair. Sherlock muttered curse words under his breath as he pulled on his coat.

"You can't kick me out of my own flat!" He shouted through the closed door, expecting to be ignored. When he was, he sighed and began pulling the doors open and strolling through the streets leading to Bart's, hoping she'd be wearing her glasses again.

* * *

Disappointed didn't even begin to describe how Sherlock felt upon arriving at the Hospital that afternoon. Molly was in the lab, examining various samples and flashing her usual smile but her big, black glasses had vanished. He approached her silently, eyeing the back of her head suspiciously.

"What happened to the glasses?" He mentally cursed himself at the forceful desperation of his tone. Molly jumped and rolled her eyes, snapping off her gloves as she whirled around.

"I found my spare contacts when I got home. I'm glad, really, at least I look normal."

Sherlock grunted with a deep scowl, stomping over to his stool a little too dramatically. Molly frowned in confusion, especially when Sherlock jumped to his feet almost immediately and raced from the lab. It was several hours later, and approaching ten, when Molly felt a forceful tapping on her shoulder. She turned irritably and came face to face with Sherlock, breathing heavily and hair wild; he was holding out a pair of blood-red glasses.

"I need help recreating a murder scene. The victim was wearing these," Molly raised her eyebrows and Sherlock gritted his teeth, "it is vital I get a visual representation. I have several ideas as to how it was...done." Molly nodded and took the glasses, glancing around the small lab room.

"Here? Now? In the lab?" Sherlock nodded vigorously, a sense of urgency in the movement. Molly placed her hands on her hips, "what about the locker room? There's more space and it's much less...open."

Sherlock looked delighted and seized her hand, pulling her towards the women's locker room. Molly stifled her giggle as he glanced up and down the corridor before pushing them both inside the intimate environment. He opened his mouth but Molly shook her head.

"It's ok, I'm the only woman working on this floor tonight. It's quite nice, really," she narrowed her eyes when he locked the door anyway.

"Just in case," this was the only explanation he gave in that deep voice of his and Molly nodded, swallowing urgently; never in her wildest dreams did she imagine Sherlock Holmes dragging her into the women's locker room. Well, maybe she _had_ but she doubted this would finish the same way. He began twisting his hands together and Molly tilted her head, stepping into the middle of the room.

"So, where do you want me?" She asked, sliding the glasses up her perfect nose.

**Naked and tied to my bed. **Sherlock had to check to make sure this thought hadn't been accidentally spoken; thankfully, Molly was still looking over the locker room. He cleared his throat and gestured at the wooden benches.

"She was...found sitting upright..."

He really didn't know where he was going with this but Molly complied nevertheless; he took extreme pleasure from knowing she had work to do but was here 'helping' him instead. Molly fidgeted nervously as Sherlock bit into his lip, simply watching her. Soon, he had strolled over and was crouching in front of her; Molly found herself wondering why his eyes seemed to be black in this light. Quick as a flash, he had reached upwards and pulled her hair free from the band holding it up.

"Good, that's better..." he didn't even try to hide the deep, husky tone to his straining voice and Molly noticed it. She shook her hair in front of her shoulders and watched his eyes widen. She clutched the edges of the bench for support and bit her lip.

"Was there...anything else?" She whispered, tilting her head slightly. Sherlock allowed his gaze to drop from her eyes, lingering over her light blue flowery shirt, down to her black skirt before smirking ever so slightly.

"The victim...wasn't wearing tights..."

Molly gave a firm nod followed by a hard swallow; her heart was in her mouth as she got to her feet. Their eyes locked and Molly dared to reach down to slide her fingers through his dark curls. Sherlock swallowed at these new sensations until she withdrew her hand; he would have complained if she didn't begin to wriggle her tights down her legs, resting her foot against his knee as she worked them down. He watched hungrily as she leaned forwards when she reached her knee, her forehead inches away from his and eyes burning into each other. Molly was unaware she had frozen until she felt Sherlock's light grip around her ankle, slipping the garment from her body and keeping his eyes fixed on hers. She straightened again and did the same until the tights were discarded somewhere they didn't really care about. Molly noticed Sherlock fidgeting uncomfortably and a wave of bravery overcame her.

"You could take your coat off...if it's too hot..." she suggested with a shrug, sitting back on the bench. Sherlock nodded, hastily removing his Belstaff and hanging it on one of the hooks. He returned almost immediately to crouching in front of her if slightly closer, "...your jacket, too...if you prefer..."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, willingly twisting the buttons of the jacket but he made no effort to slip it from his shoulders. The only sound to be heard was their heavy breathing until Molly huffed, getting to her feet again and pulling Sherlock with her. His jacket was on the floor in the blink of an eye and they were now standing impossibly close.

"I...don't think she...was wearing a lab coat..." said coat was soon being hastily removed by the increasingly impatient detective. They were rapidly moving backwards, their hands fidgeting; both were itching to tear away the remaining clothes but neither dared.

"Shirts?" Molly panted, with a tilt of her head; her back collided with the cold metal of the lockers, Sherlock stopping mere inches in front of her. He shook his head, his hands no longer resisting.

"Absolutely not."

They made tremendous work of each others buttons, fumbling and tearing at the fabric. It took much longer than necessary for the shirts to be thrown carelessly to the floor. They simply stood staring at each other, occasionally dropping their eyes and humming in appreciation. Molly brought her hand up to push the slipping glasses back into space and Sherlock swallowed, opening his mouth but it wasn't his voice that spoke.

"Dr. Hooper? Um...sorry to disturb you, but Dr. Stamford wishes to see you before you leave tonight..."

It was an effort for them both not to shout angrily back at the timid voice. With a deep sigh, Molly bent to collect their shirts and smiled sympathetically.

"Thank you, Sam...I'm on my way..." Molly bit her lip as Sherlock re-buttoned his tight shirt, his muscles showing perfectly. Molly groaned, "...do I have to go see Mike?"

"I'm afraid so...it's most likely important..." he watched hungrily as she pulled on her own shirt, the glasses sliding down her nose as she moved, "...on the other hand, it's just as likely it's nothing."

Molly chuckled, collecting her lab coat from the bench and wandering back over, leaning into his ear, "...Baker Street...after I've seen Mike..." she breathed, reaching forwards to caress his cheek.

"I can't wait that long," Sherlock replied, shuffling uncomfortably on his feet as Molly reached the door. She chuckled, turning with a swish of her hair.

"I'll wear the glasses," she winked, departing the lockers to meet Mike. Sherlock shuddered, collecting his jacket and Belstaff.

"I _definitely_ can't wait that long..." he breathed, leaving the warm room to ready 221B for Molly's arrival.

* * *

"Get out...I don't care what it was, just apologise to Mary's mother and _go home to your wife_," Sherlock delivered through clenched teeth, pointing at the door; it was almost eleven and John was still reading the paper in his chair. He narrowed his eyes.

"Why?"

"Because...well, it's your wife...and I'm...busy," he avoided his ex-flatmate's stare and busied himself in the kitchen; he gathered the bottle of champagne neither of them had touched and two glasses. John raised his eyebrows and folded the paper away.

"I shouldn't have to apologise. She comes into _my _house and kicks _me _out. 'Mother and daughter bonding time, Jim, you understand'," he mocked, folding his arms as Sherlock began pacing the flat, checking his watch every ten seconds.

"Assert yourself, how do you expect to earn her respect if you are hiding over here," Sherlock replied quickly, glancing at his watch again and rubbing his hands together. He smiled fakely at John and gestured to the door, "...well, goodnight and good luck."

He wasn't quick enough to usher John out of the flat as the doorbell sounded. The doctor paused and grinned, widely and annoyingly.

"Company?"

"Yes, let her in on your way out would you?"

Sherlock grinned falsely, slumping onto the sofa; he listened to John's heavy steps on the wooden stairs and Molly's laughter, no doubt at John's confusion. He shivered in anticipation as Molly bade John goodnight and hurried up to the flat; he could tell she was just as impatient as he. Sherlock cleared his throat as the door creaked, closing his eyes and clasping his hands.

"What did Mike want?"

"Do you care?" Her voice sounded next to his ear, breathy and seductive; he assumed she had slipped her shoes off as he didn't hear her approach. His eyes snapped open and he swallowed at the even thicker, square blue glasses she had selected; he seized her hand, pulling her on top of him.

"No."

* * *

Usually, nothing could rouse Mrs. Hudson after she had taken her soothers. Tonight, however, she was awoken by loud noises in the flat above her. She decided she'd have to tell him to be quiet, she wasn't likely to get any sleep. She tiptoed upstairs, the tortured cries and helpless giggles increasing in volume as she neared. If she didn't know any better, she'd say Sherlock Holmes was_ entertaining_. Thankfully, she did know better.

The flat was in a right state upon entry; there were a trail of clothes leading through to Sherlock's bedroom and there were two empty champagne glasses on the kitchen table. Rubbing her eyes, Mrs. Hudson ignored the part of her telling her to return to her bedroom. She stopped dead when she heard distinctive sounds from the bedroom.

"You're...unbelieveable..."

A woman's breathless gasp. Odd. This was enough to make Mrs. Hudson turn on her heel and leave them to it; she'd congratulate him in the morning.

Sherlock licked away the remainder of the champagne from her chest and stomach, groaning at the feeling of her fingers digging into his scalp. Molly glanced down and tugged him up into a fierce kiss, dropping her hands to roam all over his fine muscles; she couldn't resist running her feet over the backs of his legs, biting his lip tightly. Sherlock decided not worry too much if he was bruising her hips, her soft sighs told him she was enjoying it. He swept her messy hair from her face and pressed a tender kiss to her nose, trailing his lips desperately down her jaw.

"I...knew you had...a thing for...glasses," she breathed out, her nails scraping down his back now. Sherlock looked up immediately, shock in his expression.

"You were...wearing glasses?"

Molly's eyes widened and she was so overcome she pulled him back into a desperate snog, rolling over until she straddled him; both ignored the broken glasses that lay discarded in the corner of the room.

* * *

_Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it...more of Sherlock's dirty, dirty mind to come soon ;) xx Stay tuned, back soon xx_


	3. Jeans

_Hello and welcome back...now this one is a little different but I hope you like it all the same...xx_

* * *

It was three in the morning when Sherlock lifted his sleepy head from his pillow at the sound of his phone vibrating against the bedside table. Running a hand over his face and through his tousled hair, Sherlock yawned and reached for the item; his eyes burned from the light emanating from it.

_You should know, your arse would look really good in jeans. You should wear them. I wanna see. Touch. Would be nice. Very sexy. Good night, Sherlock. Mollyx_

**Molly is certainly enjoying her night off. **Sherlock nodded once and allowed his head to drop his back onto the pillow; he fell back to sleep almost immediately.

* * *

Molly groaned, massaging her head as she placed an aspirin into her mouth followed by a large gulp of water. She had to emerge from the lockers sooner or later but the white and silver of her morgue was just too much; that was the last time she'd allow Mary to persuade her to go on a night out when she had work the next day. She slammed her locker shut, the noise making her groan and made her way back into her cool and, thankfully, quiet morgue. She rolled her eyes as much as she could when she found Sherlock and John bent over the body, muttering to each other.

"Ah, Molly," Sherlock raised an eyebrow when the small pathologist winced; his usually sensual, deep voice was far too much in her hungover state, "...something wrong?"

"No, just a headache...that's all," she smiled, brushing her hair from her eyes; she had only managed to pull it into a loose ponytail that morning. Sherlock narrowed his eyes disbelievingly, brushing his Belstaff aside to stuff his hands in the pockets of his faded black jeans. Molly was rubbing her eyes as she spoke, "...what can I do for you, today?"

"Um...I just needed to see his wrists," Sherlock looked confused as Molly yawned, nodding and approaching them; she hardly looked at him, "...his wife mentioned he wore his favourite watch all the time. Did he have it before you started?"

"No...I didn't see it," she shook her head gently and Sherlock fidgeted on the spot, the Belstaff shifting; John raised his eyebrows at his friend before turning back to Molly who was scratching her head, "so, this was a robbery that went wrong?"

"According to his wife, the watch was priceless..." Sherlock was watching her suspiciously, as if expecting her to say something, "I'd say he was murdered _for _the watch," he brought his hands to ruffle his hair, the Belstaff lifting higher; John frowned at him in confusion. Molly nodded again, her eyelids drooping as she returned the body back to its drawer.

"If you want to use the lab, go ahead...I'll be up shortly...just need a minute," she yawned again and Sherlock deflated, nodding acceptingly. He began strolling away more confidently than he felt with John following when Molly spoke again, "...oh, I almost forgot!"

"Yes?" The detective whirled with a hopeful expression but Molly waved a hand in their direction.

"Mary was down earlier, she's working late tonight and will be home later," Molly smiled sympathetically when John sighed, slumping his shoulders.

"Never mind...I'll leave her dinner in the microwave, thanks Molly," John was grinning at his ex-flatmate who was biting his lip; he _had _sounded far too eager when he assumed Molly was going to say something about his new item of clothing.

* * *

John was still grinning in that stupid knowing way of his when they reached the lab and Sherlock gritted his teeth, turning to face the irritating doctor slowly.

"What?"

"Molly sent you a drunk text last night, didn't she?" Sherlock rolled his shoulders, choosing not to meet John's direct gaze; the army doctor sniggered and withdrew his phone, "Mary was giving me a running commentary of their night out last night. She had a little bit too much, too..." he explained, extending the hand his phone was clasped in, "do you want to read? They're all about what Molly thinks of you, after all."

"Why would I want to read it?" The detective snapped, snatching the phone with a scowl. John folded his arms and waited for his friend's reaction.

_If I have to hear one more lengthy description of how hot Sherlock is, you'll both soon be solving Molly's murder. MWxx_

_Did you know that Molly wants to ride Sherlock harder than the rollercoaster at Alton Towers? Neither did I but how do you ride a rollercoaster hard? I'm hungry MWxx_

_John, save me...she keeps going on about his hair...and his voice...and his descriptive analysis of sciencey stuff...oh, and she wants to see his arse in jeans or something. MWxx_

_I love you so much. I'll be home soon and then we'll-_

"Oh, yeah...don't read the last one...it's, uh, not about Molly..." John hastily retrieved his phone from the extremely blushing detective, his own reddening cheeks developing. John cleared his throat as they moved into the familiar lab room, "...quite something, isn't it?"

"Yes...she has never been one for drinking. This...isn't the first time this has happened," he shook off his coat and slipped into a stool. John raised an eyebrow; he was certainly unaware Sherlock had received saucy, inebriated messages from the pathologist before.

"Oh? When was the last time?"

"Uh...your wedding night," he was pursing his lip, shuffling against the microscope. John tilted his head as Sherlock delicately fiddled with the microscope dials despite not having a slide underneath, "...she didn't text me, then. She told me to my face."

"When?" John narrowed his eyes suspiciously and Sherlock swallowed audibly, pressing himself tighter into the microscope.

"After you dismissed the guests...I...walked her to her hotel room...she told me at the door," he almost whispered, glowing red; John had never seen him blush before.

"Whoa...well, what did you say?"

"Nothing," Sherlock swallowed once more and took a deep breath, "...I kissed her."

"What?" John's eyes widened in surprise, even more so when Sherlock simply nodded, abandoning the sample-less microscope to watch his friend. John rubbed the back of his neck, "...oh, then what?"

"We slept together," Sherlock shrugged, "we must have done. Our clothes were everywhere, the room was a mess, we were both lying very close in bed naked-"

"Ok, too much information...well, you two seem pretty...normal...about it..." he attempted to sound as though this piece of information wasn't the most shocking he'd ever heard.

"She doesn't remember...I woke up first, straightened the room and left her with a cup of water and an aspirin," he bit his lip and lowered his voice, "...it wasn't an aspirin. It was a morning after pill..."

"You didn't even tell her!" John shouted, clapping a hand to his mouth when Sherlock gestured frantically; a few lab technicians paused with their studies to listen. The detective gritted his teeth, lowering his voice to a low mutter.

"No, I didn't want the inevitable 'what now?' conversation that would have followed..." he glanced behind him and ruffled his hair; he turned back to find John's eyes still wide with shock, his arms folded and back braced against the metal bench, "I must admit...waking up next to Molly that morning, I felt peaceful and relaxed. I just held her for a while...it was right. I didn't know how to tell her...so I left...she was none the wiser."

"That's...really sentimental of you, Sherlock, even if leaving her was a stupid thing to do," John rolled his eyes as Sherlock grimaced, nodding in defeat. He released a deep sigh, finally coming to terms with Sherlock's softer side, "...it's nice to know you didn't regret it..."

"I cannot stop thinking about it, John," Sherlock had clenched his fists and was shaking his head; he looked like a desperate man on the edge, "...how it must have been, what it must have _felt _like...how it must have _sounded_..."

"How what must have sounded?" Molly asked, looking much more fresh-faced as she strolled over to them, clutching a coffee in her hands. Both Sherlock and John jumped, eyeing the swift pathologist nervously.

"Ah...well, the gunshot that finished off Mr. Hughes," John nodded and Sherlock frowned; Mr. Hughes, their murder-robbery victim, was stabbed to death. Molly tilted her head in confusion.

"But, he was-"

"Coffee...good hangover cure," Sherlock smiled, nodding at her coffee; thankfully, this did the trick. Molly couldn't resist his genuine smile and blushed down into her coffee cup.

"Yeah...I'm never drinking again when I've got work the next day," she chuckled softly before bringing her gaze to meet his eyes, "...how did you know I was hungover?"

With a quick glance at John, Sherlock swallowed, "...it is not a difficult leap. Your eyes are bloodshot, you are pale, naturally avoiding bright lights and loud sounds." He finished with a shrug and Molly rolled her eyes. **I should have guessed.**

* * *

It was late when Molly finally looked up from her examinations; Sherlock was pacing up and down the lab in long strides, glancing at the pathologist from the corner of his eye. John was glaring at the detective furiously, silently begging Molly to notice his damn jeans...or rather, what was in them. He decided enough was enough and withdrew his phone.

_For God's sake, notice his bloody jeans. He's been parading in front of you for ages now. Check your sent messages and then Mr. Holmes' current attire. Try and convince me it's a coincidence. JW_

Molly looked up from her phone to find John winking encouragingly; she bit her lip as she examined her sent text history, gasping in horror when she noticed a text to Sherlock at 3:00am. She buried her face in her hands, glancing up when John cleared his throat; she followed his eyes to Sherlock, who was now leaning over the bench on front of her...the jeans very much on display.

_Your arse would look really good in jeans_

_Try and convince me it's a coincidence_

Molly jumped to her feet and scurried from the lab like a frightened mouse; Sherlock narrowed his eyes at her as she left.

"Where has she gone?"

"Hopefully, to come to her senses," John grinned, before muttering to himself, "...surely _one _of you has to."

* * *

"Did you _really _think I didn't know we'd already slept together, Sherlock Holmes?" Molly had stormed into the lab, brandishing her phone wildly when Sherlock and John were preparing to leave; the detective glared accusingly at the wide-eyed army doctor for a moment until the pathologist stopped in front of them, "...I felt you snuggling me before you buggered off!"

"Molly, I-"

"You left your tie in the room...it was around my neck, in case you were wondering," she fumed, poking him hard in the chest; several of the lab technicians who remained were silently sniggering over their examinations and John wished he hadn't heard the last statement. Sherlock looked just as shocked as John; that was the marvellous thing about Molly...she was a mystery.

"Oh..." he shook his head, frowning as he came to his senses, "...you didn't mention anything either. You _let _me leave without a word!"

"Yeah because I thought it meant nothing to-"

"I am wearing these horrible, scratchy jeans for you, woman...you can't expect _me_ to do everything. I'd give anything for a repeat of that night. Only with my memory intact," he added truthfully; John was blinking rapidly, unable to believe what had just happened. Sherlock looked pleased with himself for Molly was opening and closing her mouth quickly.

"Oh, you..." she bit her smile back and met his enthralling blue gaze, "well, you asked for it but I'm warning you, if you leave before making me breakfast this time, you're in trouble," she giggled, seizing his hand and pulling him eagerly towards the door. John opened his mouth but Sherlock's deeper than usual voice beat him to it.

"I'm not likely to leave my own flat now, Molly..." they hurried away leaving John standing in the middle of the lab, mouth wide open and mind whirling. He even scratched in confusion before shaking his head and checking his watch; it was high time he returned home to his wife.

* * *

It was nearly midnight when Sherlock and Molly arrived at Baker Street for a thorough re-enactment of the night they had missed out on...and it all immediately came flooding back to them.

"Ooh, I think...I'm starting to...remember..." Molly panted, glancing around the dimly lit bedroom of the man currently biting and scraping his teeth along her shoulders and throat, "the clothes everywhere-"

"Your clothes," Sherlock reminded since his purple shirt was hanging halfway down his shoulders and rested at his elbows, the buttons partially torn and scattered and his jeans - Molly was more than insistent he keep _them _on - were askew.

"Yeah, well..." she was silenced by another moan; Sherlock's rough hands were not gentle at her thighs. Then again, she wasn't exactly gentle with her fingers in his hair and along his toned muscles, "mmm...I don't...think you did...that last time..." Molly chuckled, moaning at the sensation of Sherlock's tongue tracing over her throat. Sherlock raised an eyebrow, lifting his head and displaying his swollen lips and wild curls.

"No but...I will from...now on..."

He smirked devilishly, stealing a deep kiss before dropping his head back to her chest; his hands were busy at her thighs whilst hers ran over his well-toned back under his shirt. Her nails brushed and scraped along effortlessly and Molly savoured the sounds falling freely from his lips. Molly trailed her hands down to bury in the back pockets of his black jeans, biting her lip in satisfaction.

"I was right...looks good...feels good...so good..." she pulled him tighter to her, gasping in delight at the sensation. Sherlock smirked, nipping a trail down her body as far as he could reach.

"I'll keep them around, then."

It was amazing that these very words started a frequent tradition between Sherlock Holmes and Molly Hooper...

* * *

_Oh, Sherlock...*sigh* Anyway, thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed this chapter :D More on the way if you want it ;) xx Stay tuned, back soon xx_


	4. I Dream of Molly

_Hello everybody and welcome back. Are you ready for more filthy minded Sherlock because you are certainly in the right place. Poor thing is almost driven to insanity. Anyway, enough teasing...I hope you like ;) xx_

* * *

It was late afternoon when Sherlock decided to venture to Bart's out of sheer boredom; hopefully, Molly would have an interesting corpse for him to examine or at least a sample to study...even intelligent conversation would be something. However, when he arrived, he found the morgue empty of his favourite pathologist. Sighing, Sherlock trudged upstairs to the smaller and quieter lab room; he effectively found Molly fast asleep at her bench, her head in her arms. He rolled his eyes and shut the door silently behind him, watching her peacefully for several moments. She had been rushed off of her feet lately and his constant demands didn't do her any favours.

He released a far too dramatic sigh and approached her, stopping dead when Molly giggled in her sleep. Shrugging, Sherlock dropped into the seat opposite her and removed his gloves; he had rested his hands on his Belstaff when Molly gave what could only be described as a moan. His hands tightened on his coat and Sherlock practically threw the item from his shoulders; she was dreaming about _Tom_ again.

"Mmmm...baby..." this was followed by a small giggle from the dozing pathologist. He rolled his eyes and dragged the microscope closer to him, trying to drown out her blissful sounds, "..._God..._Sherlock..."

The detective snapped his head from the microscope, flitting his gaze left to right to check no one else was in the room. He swallowed hard, keeping his eyes fixed on the still sleeping pathologist; after several moments, Sherlock cleared his throat and dropped his gaze back to the microscope, feeling an unfamiliar warmth to his cheeks.

"Working..._stop it..._" she mumbled, turning her head to get more comfortable; Sherlock was watching her again and he swallowed as Molly gave a very throaty - and loud - moan, "..._oh fuck_...Sherlock, yes..."

His eyes glazed over and he was on his feet, silently approaching her; the last thing he wanted to do was wake her and end this beautiful...whatever it was - Molly often talked in her sleep but Sherlock _usually _took no notice. He dropped into the stool next to hers, delicately sweeping his eyes over her and bringing his hand to move a stray strand of hair from her eyes; the second his skin brushed hers, Molly released the filthiest sound Sherlock had ever heard...and he loved it. He bit his lip and leaned into her ear, his breath caressing her neck when he whispered.

"Molly..." his fingers stroked the skin on her hand; Molly giggled again, tilting her head back and sighing pleasurably - it seemed the contact of his skin and the sound of his voice was only fuelling her dream. He swallowed hard and gritted his teeth, his husky voice surprising him, "...what am I doing to you, Molly?"

"_Sher- _oh, please...so _good,_" she was almost whimpering, trembling under his feather-light touch. She was sighing rapidly and audibly, mumbling softly, "..._there_...oh, baby..."

"Oh, Molly...tell me," he smirked, watching her bite into her lip as a wide grin spread across her face; Sherlock lost control, raising his deep voice slightly, "...God, _what am I doing?_"

Molly's hands clenched into fists and Sherlock shifted nearer, his hand covering hers entirely now; he could smell her skin and his other hand subconsciously tugged the band from her hair. After another forceful moan, Molly jerked herself awake and sat up straight; she vaguely felt something warm fall from her hand as she stretched, yawning widely. She blinked in confusion as she noticed Sherlock gathering his Belstaff from the bench opposite. Before she could question him, he had swung the coat over his shoulders and exuberantly pushed the doors open; Molly just happened to notice his desperate hair ruffle and scarf re-adjustment before the doors closed behind him.

* * *

"I'm glad you're here, John...I think there's something wrong with Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson whispered with a nod towards flat B, stepping aside to let John inside. The doctor frowned, folding his arms in concern.

"Why? What's he done?"

"Well, he's acting really odd. It might just be boredom, you know how he gets. Doesn't answer me when I call up but that's nothing new," she rambled, bustling back into her own space as John climbed the stairs to the flat. He swallowed, abandoning all expectations as he rested his hand on the door handle; the moment the door swung open, John almost choked on the severe amount of cigarette smoke wafting through the air. Clasping a hand over his nose and mouth, the doctor hurried towards the windows and threw them open.

"Do you mind?" John whirled furiously to the voice on the sofa; even now, Sherlock was sprawled on the sofa with a lit cigarette hanging from his mouth. Seeing red, John seized the item and hurled it through the window, "...that was my last one."

"Patches, Sherlock...you were doing so well..." John sighed in defeat, inadvertently inhaling quite a lot of smoke. As he choked, Sherlock tugged the sleeve of his dressing gown, his gaze still fixed intently to the ceiling.

"I'm covered..." he gestured at the four nicotine patches displayed on his forearms. John gaped in horror.

"Why were you smoking if-" he stopped when Sherlock just rolled his eyes and turned on his side, his back to his friend; John quickly changed the question, "...four patches?"

"It's a four patch problem..." he mumbled, inhaling deeply and humming satisfactorily; John scanned the flat and gritted his teeth at its state. The empty packs of cigarettes concerned him greatly but he swallowed and attempted to clean up the flat as much as possible.

"Well...if I can help-"

"You can't," he stated defiantly and John shrugged, examining some rather questionable experiments. Sherlock hugged his knees to his chest when he heard John sink into his old chair, tapping the arms. Finally, he gritted his teeth, "...I heard Molly having sex with me in her sleep. A sex dream about me...however you want to phrase it."

John didn't know why this came as such a surprise considering Molly's passion for the detective; he assumed her to be perfectly settled with Tom, he seemed to make her happy. Although, now he thought about it, they _have _been arguing a lot lately - perhaps Molly's subconscious was to blame. He shook his head.

"...and you've been smoking yourself to death trying to figure out what to do?"

After a long pause, Sherlock gave a very subtle nod and an almost inaudible mutter, "...yes."

John suddenly felt curious and his rubbed the back of his neck, clearing his throat, "...um, since it happened, have you...you know, have you..." Sherlock was staring over his shoulder at his stuttering ex-flatmate, urging him to spit it out; John gritted his teeth, "..._thought _of Molly...like _that_?"

"Recently? Every time I close my eyes," Sherlock admitted; he had shifted to lying on his back again. John smiled sympathetically as Sherlock sighed, flexing his arms desperately, "...and once before. I can never go back to Bart's...I've even _studied_ exactly what I'd do to her given half the chance, John..."

"Ok, _that_...I really didn't need to know..." he watched Sherlock close his eyes and clasp his hands, a smirk trying to break out across his face through the tightly pursed lips, "...you should know, Molly's been in a foul mood these last few days. Something about Tom...anyway, if you _are _planning to shag her, make sure you shower first."

Sherlock grumbled, knowing full well John was looking smug; soon, he had exited the flat and left his confused friend to his thoughts.

* * *

**Hands all over me. Skin touching mine. Mouth on mine. Moans. Loud, filthy moans, Molly Hooper. Legs...hers around mine. Her lips...those painfully small lips, everywhere on me. Mark me, Molly Hooper. Sweaty...heaving...moving...kissing, touching, nails...teeth. I'm yours, all yours. Molly Hooper. Tell me what you want...I'll give it to you. Bart's? Your place, my place? All three? You're dirty...I'm filthy, apparently. We'd have utterly ****_fantastic_**** sex. Fuck Tom...who cares about him? You? WHY DREAM OF ME THEN? My bed...your office, whatever works. You ****_like _****that? Oh...ok, it's just that's not where I'd have started. Alright, I'll do ****_that _****then. Where? No, no...my sofa, my kitchen table. What experiments? Oh...them. Jesus, red lipstick...everywhere, all over me. Oh, yes...I want that very much, Molly Hooper. No, not my riding crop, Doctor Hooper...well, if you insist. **His hands clasped around the gun and he jumped to his feet, his trousers feeling very uncomfortable.

John had joined Mrs. Hudson downstairs and the two were sharing tea when they heard several loud gunshots from upstairs followed by shouts of 'GET OUT OF MY HEAD...LEAVE ME ALONE' and more gunshots. Mrs. Hudson buried her face in her hands.

"That's it...I've been too soft on him. I'm increasing the rent!"

"It's not his fault," John sighed, sipping his tea and wincing at another gunshot. Mrs. Hudson frowned.

"Whose fault is it, then?" She asked, replacing her own cup on the table and nervously glancing at the ceiling. John grinned.

"Molly Hooper's," when Mrs. Hudson simply gaped, John smirked, "...our dear Sherlock is in love."

"Ah, well...good luck to her," she replied, frowning at the final gunshot from the detective.

* * *

_You are a vixen, Molly Hooper. SH_

He sent the text quickly before rising to his feet and heading to the bathroom; he had showered immediately, dressed and stopped in front of the mirror to shave when his phone buzzed.

I_ am? Mollyx_

_Yes, you've been teasing me, invading my dreams...it's all your fault. SH_

He seized a towel and dried his face, throwing it carelessly to the floor and moving back into his flat. He yawned and ruffled his damp hair; he noticed his shirt was still hanging open and moved to button it when he heard her soft, sweet voice.

"What have I done?"

Sherlock avoided her gaze, concentrating all his attention on buttoning his shirt; he had barely reached halfway when he was stopped by Molly's hand on his. He sighed deeply, still refusing to meet her gaze.

"I heard you," he muttered, not wanting to reveal his deeper tone. He did still feel her warm fingers brushing the back of his hand tenderly, though. **Not good with Tom? **Her other hand had risen and she was carefully tracing her nails over the muscles Sherlock had on display; she was moving his shirt apart as her fingers travelled determinedly. **Not good at all.** Biting her lip, Molly swallowed.

"Heard me-"

"-dreaming of me...very vocally..." he almost growled, daring to lift his gaze from her fingers' trail.

Molly was still biting her lip, swallowing urgently. Without warning, he seized her elbows and pulled towards the kitchen; Molly managed to throw him off and attempted to rip the loose shirt from his body but he was too quick, pushing her back into the kitchen table and causing his experiments to clink together. They stood impossibly close and breathing heavily.

"I am going to make you moan like that...for me..." Sherlock whispered, hoisting her effortlessly onto the table as she brushed aside his equipment. Molly ran her hands continuously and desperately through his damp, tousled hair; she leaned down until she was hovering inches from his lips.

"Dreams are different to reality...the impossible happens in dreams."

She winked cheekily and Sherlock smirked, cupping the back of her neck and pulling her down into a fierce kiss. Their tongues battled, their hands clawed, their shirts dropped and their mouths explored. Molly's hands scratched at his arms, trying to completely rid him of the shirt resting at his elbows - Sherlock had been far too reluctant to remove his hands from her soft skin. He snapped his eyes open and removed his lips from her throat, meeting her gaze.

"Tom?" Sherlock gasped and Molly unwound her arms from his neck, placing her palms flat against his chest; his heart was racing beneath her fingers.

"Apparently, you're not the only one who heard me...things like that are hard to explain..."

Sherlock nodded until he was once again pulled down to meet Molly's lips; she was once again pulling at his hair whilst he massaged her sides searchingly, trying to illicit a response similar to the dream. He grinned when she giggled softly. He wanted rid of her tank top but that meant pulling away from her lips; he raised an eyebrow when Molly broke away with a huff, reaching down to his belt.

"Molly-"

"What? Don't you dare tell me...we're moving too fast..." Molly spat warningly and Sherlock rolled his eyes with a chuckle.

"I was going to say...you should do the same."

He gestured at her skirt; Molly huffed and tugged her own skirt down her legs, kicking them aside with her shoes. She couldn't control herself any longer and launched herself at the detective, kissing everywhere she could on his face. He had barely released his belt when he staggered backwards into the wall, feeling Molly's lips burning his skin - he secretly loved her impatience and he gripped her hips to steady them.

Neither knew when it had happened but Molly was lying flat on Sherlock's bed, lifting her head slightly to watch him narrow his eyes at her; his grin was purely wolfish as he climbed over her, the shirt still hanging at his elbows and his trousers slipping. Molly swallowed as Sherlock bent to hover over her lips teasingly before changing his mind and descending to her stomach.

"That's not fair..." she grumbled but was soon cut off by a small, pleasured sigh.

His tongue and lips were sweeping over her skin, kissing every freckle, nipping every bit of skin; Molly frowned when he simply glanced over her covered breasts; a simple bra but it did the trick, apparently. He soon reached her throat, his hands still balancing him over her - he barely wobbled, poised to perfection and Molly shivered. her own hands were trailing over his muscled back, Her nails applying firm pressure here and there.

"John told you...of my condition...that is why you came..." he stated, nipping her chin affectionately and moving along her jaw. He was working behind her ear when Molly brought her hands to his shoulders under his shirt.

"Sherlock...please...I...need you..._fuck..._I want you..." the foul language was what drove him mad in the first place and he practically growled into her ear at the word. Molly chuckled which soon turned into a moan as his hands travelled to her forgotten chest, massaging over the fabric.

"Well...why didn't you...just say so?"

After some readjustment on Sherlock's part and de-clothing on Molly's, their bodies became one; so close and entwined as they were, Sherlock wasn't sure whose hands were whose. Their legs entangled and Sherlock seized Molly's wrists, pulling her hands from his hair. He pinned them to the bed as he slowly drove into her.

"Sher...please...oh, _God..._please..."

She was begging him to let her touch him, run her hands everywhere she could; she wanted to make him feel as good as he was making her feel. Molly settled for arching her chest into his, meeting his far too slow movements impatiently. Sherlock didn't know whether he should concentrate on slowly undoing Molly as she had him or the fact he was hitting all the right notes, so to speak. He vaguely felt Molly's heels digging into the backs of his legs, urging him to increase speed and depth.

Sherlock could resist no longer and released her wrists, clutching the bed sheets in desperation and biting his lip to keep from shouting out. Molly was less collected and was urging him through clenched teeth, running her hands over his fine chest; he was practically begging him to touch her too. He finally complied, his entire weight on her now and pushing them closer together. She was sighing and moaning the way she was in the dream but Sherlock was too busy biting and licking over her breasts to care too much.

"OH..._there..._Sher-"

"Molly, wow..."

He attempted to hide his low murmur by burying his face into her neck; he heard Molly give a throaty moan and she jerked against him. Molly's moan sent his mind spinning out of control and Sherlock himself groaned, his fingers leaving rather noticeable marks on her hips and across her stomach where he had just been dragging them across. He lifted his blissfully heavy head from her shoulder and bit his lip; love bites surrounded Molly's skin and he blushed. He was too exhausted to move from his delicious position so shifted half his weight from Molly's heaving body. She ran her fingers lazily through his hair and blinked rapidly.

"You...you stink of smoke..."

"So do you," Sherlock smirked, tracing his hand delicately over her legs. Soon enough, Sherlock hauled the thin blanket over their sweat dampened and tightly twisted bodies; they snuggled close together and fell into a deep, peaceful asleep. When the time would come for her to wake up, Molly would realise she no longer needed a dream to keep her satisfied. She now had the real thing...

* * *

_Hmm...he doesn't handle not knowing something very well, does he? Ah, he got there in the end ;) Anyway, I hope you liked it :D Thank you for reading (I'm glad so many of you are enjoying this dirty bit of fun) definitely way more filthy Sherlock coming...I love you all *kisses* xx Stay tuned, back soon xx_


	5. Pirates and Bikers

_This is for Irene and anyone else who loves a torturous Molly (even if she doesn't know it ) I hope this is good enough xx_

* * *

Sherlock was brought out of his mind palace abruptly by a hearty giggle directly outside the door of his flat. He glanced at his watch - one in the morning, no less - and got to his feet with a deep sigh; he concluded it was Molly just from the lovely sound of her laughter. He threw the door open and found her leaning against the frame, swaying from side to side. It took her several moments to realise he was watching her.

"Sherlock!" She beamed widely, steadying herself by gripping the door frame. He sighed.

"It's one o'clock in the morning, Molly," he started but Molly's eyes widened and she shook her head repeatedly.

"Is it? You should...be in bed, then...don't wor-ry, I'll gladly...help you undresh," she lunged forwards for Sherlock's shirt, only managing to trip and tumble into his waiting arms, "...mmm...I knew you'd...change your mind..."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and attempted to shift her; it was no use, she was a dead weight in his arms. He settled for dragging her into the living room, frowning when she giggled at his touches. He attempted to lower her onto the sofa but she insisted on sliding onto the floor. Sherlock ruffled his hair, watching her attempt to struggle to her feet.

"What happened to...Sean, was it?"

"Shteve...I called out your name in bed...too many times to be called accidental..." she waved a dismissive hand, latching onto his trouser leg in an attempt to pull herself upright. Sherlock raised an eyebrow, blushing at the feel of her nails scraping against him. Getting increasingly fed up with Molly just holding the fabric of his trousers loosely, Sherlock hauled the drunk pathologist over his shoulder and carried her through to his bedroom.

"You're...impatient...the sofa...would've been...fine...I'm flexible..."

"Oh, I'm sure you are," he replied without thinking, dropping her carefully into the middle of his bed. Molly chuckled at his inadvertently dirty reply.

"I did...didn't mean for shleeping..." she giggled, pressing a finger to her mouth; Sherlock bit back his smirk - **why is she so adorable?**

"Yes, I know," he glanced at her as she wriggled around, attempting to sit up straight; giving up, she slumped against the comfortable mattress and spread out as much as she could; he narrowed his eyes, "...how drunk are you?"

"Take me now...I'm ready, Sherlock..." she mumbled lazily, smiling softly as her eyes fluttered closed.

"I see," soon, she was snoring and Sherlock found it very difficult not to chuckle at her; her mouth was wide open, her hair fanning across his bed, her boots still on her feet. He swallowed as he watched her chest rise and fall rapidly beneath her red blouse, "...it would be better if you slept on your front. I don't want you to choke."

"Been shick already..." she mumbled sleepily but that didn't stop Sherlock from rolling her over ever so gently. Opening an eye, she saw he was irritably pulling strands of hair from her face, "...boots, please..."

Sherlock nodded, ruffling his hair as he got to his feet; one by one, and far slower than he deemed necessary - Molly was drunk, she wouldn't remember - he tugged off her boots, admiring her legs covered by her thin tights. However, as he reached her heels, he saw that rather than tights Doctor Hooper had selected a pair of stockings. Dropping her boots to the floor, Sherlock jumped to his feet as though he had been burned; he hated how quickly he became flustered at the mere sight of the exciting article of clothing on his pathologist. **That's just the sight...imagine the ****_feel_****, against your bare skin as you rub against ****_your Molly._**He had to get out, calm his racing heart...and his wandering mind.

"Well...if you need anything...I'll be in there..." he pointed at the door, swearing under his breath when he became unable to lift his gaze. **Do it...she won't remember...only you. Just. One. Taste. **Sherlock shook these sinister thoughts away as he backed out of his room; he had almost made it, too.

"Nah...you can't...sleep on the shofa...ish not fair...plenty of room for...two..." she clumsily patted the bed, genuinely offering with a warm, lopsided smile. Sherlock shifted uncomfortably on the spot, a fierce internal debate raging inside. It was when she started scrabbling at her own clothes, mumbling about being hot, did Sherlock shake his head and swallow, his mouth feeling dry.

"No...I insist," he reluctantly averted his eyes as Molly tossed her shirt aside; the item landed over his shoulder. He shrugged it away, burying his hands in his trouser pockets; it was the sound of her skirt zipper that made Sherlock groan and very reluctantly leave his bedroom.

* * *

Sherlock hadn't realised he'd spent the entire night staring in the direction of his bedroom until he heard Mrs. Hudson bustling around downstairs before climbing the stairs; she jumped when she saw him sat in his chair.

"Oh, Sherlock...I've brought your tea, dear...there's two cups but I doubt Molly will fancy it after the night she's had, poor love..." she placed the tray and nervously watched Sherlock flexing his fingers; if she was being honest, he looked as though he needed something stronger than tea.

"She's still asleep. I'll ask her," he got to his feet, ruffling his hair as he shuffled towards his bedroom; his hand was on the door when he heard Mrs. Hudson call softly to him.

"Remember to knock, dear...you can't just walk in on a lady..."

Sherlock ignored her, pushing the door open slowly so as not to wake her; it was his bedroom, why did he have to knock? As he peered inside, he could tell one thing straight away: Molly was certainly awake...and in the middle of getting dressed or undressed, he couldn't tell. How he wished he had glanced at her last night after she removed her shirt; if he had, Sherlock would have seen under that red blouse of hers, Molly had selected an equally fetching red silk chemise...clearly, she had been anticipating some fun - an unusual feeling settled at the pit of his stomach as Sherlock remembered Molly had come to see him. He really shouldn't have been watching, especially as she was bringing said item over her head, her long hair falling freely down her back. He was certain he had groaned before the door snapped closed behind him; he must have made some sort of noise for Mrs. Hudson was back in the room, eyeing him curiously.

"Are you alright, Sherlock? You've gone all red..."

"Hmm? Nothing...she's fit- _fine. _Molly is very...fine..." he smiled falsely at his worried landlady. Mrs. Hudson nodded uncertainly but shrugged and left him to his many thoughts. After throwing water from the kitchen tap over his face, Sherlock dashed over to his discarded phone and tapped away furiously.

_Do you recall a conversation we had several days ago regarding my reactions to a certain pathologist who shall remain nameless? SH_

_Oh, you mean how you fancy the pants off of Molly Hooper? Quite literally... JW_

_Very juvenile. SH_

_Well, am I wrong? JW_

"Um...Sherlock? Is it ok if I use the shower?"

Sherlock looked over his phone and swallowed; she had wrapped herself in his blue dressing gown and was nervously fiddling with her hands - it was clear she was wearing nothing else but his thin item of clothing. Her messy hair was lazily thrown over one shoulder; it was clear she was still affected from her night of heavy drinking. Sherlock lifted himself from the sofa he hadn't realised he had settled on, running a hand through his hair; he hoped she was still affected by that small action.

"Of course...fresh towels are under the sink..." he winked, noting how she swallowed hard. Molly muttered a shy 'thanks' as she hurried into the bathroom. Sherlock dropped his warm smile the moment she had shut the door, dropping his gaze back to his phone.

_You are most definitely not wrong. SH_

_He heard the water starting and quickly tapped in another hasty text to his friend._

_Talk to me...about anything. SH_

_Is she there? JW_

_Not helping. SH_

_God, you're already like a couple. What's she doing? JW_

Humming...Molly was now humming softly whilst standing naked and steamy in his shower, rubbing herself down with soap. Sherlock cleared his throat, shifting his suddenly majorly uncomfortable body.

_Certainly not helping my situation, John. SH_

_Right, sorry. Hannah nearly said 'dada' today. JW_

_No, not baby stuff. Boring. Actually, boring is good, boring is effective. SH_

_My daughter is not boring, Sherlock. She had her first piece of chocolate, this morning. JW_

_She always has chocolate. SH_

_I've never given her chocolate. Have you? JW_

_No. SH_

_Hold on, Mary wants me. JW_

Sherlock ignored this text and continued tapping away, eager to drown out the blissful sounds from the bathroom.

_My son would solve his first crime before he was five. SH_

_If I were to have a son. My daughter would solve her first crime before three, I think. SH_

_WIth our combined genes, they'd be a marvel. SH_

_John. SH_

_John. SH_

_I'm bored. SH_

_John. SH_

_John. SH_

_I'm imagining fake children. It's not working. SH_

_John. SH_

_John. SH_

_This had better be good. JW_

_I'm bored. SH_

_Hannah almost took her first steps, Sherlock. I could really do without your constant texts right now. JW_

_Whose combined genes? JW_

_I've just realised. SH_

_What? JW_

_She didn't lock the bathroom door. SH_

_Are you drunk? JW_

He was at the bathroom door before he registered his phone's text tone. Not even daring to think about what he was really doing, Sherlock burst into the room and his heart sank when he saw her wrapped in the clean, fluffy towel. Molly's eyes widened and she attempted to bring the item higher over her body, swallowing when she saw the detective's dark stare.

"Sherlock...what are-"

He reached her in one long stride, gently cupping her face and bringing their lips together; Molly's hands shot to his chest to keep herself from completely melting in his arms. She didn't care about getting his shirt wet as he possesively claimed her lips; she responded so fiercely, Sherlock groaned against her lips. Soon, he had removed one of his hands to brace against the shower frame; they would have fallen in otherwise. They momentarily broke apart for air only to instantly rejoin together, their tongues now wanting to get involved. It was getting really hot in that little room but as they simultaneously moaned each other's names, it didn't really matter.

"Sherlock..." Molly whispered pleadingly and he realised his hands had settled on top of her towel. He met her equally dark gaze and swallowed, his voice almost inaudible.

"I'm sorry...I shouldn't have interrupted you..."

Molly could only blink as Sherlock backed out of the room, gathering his phone and coat; Molly wanted to scream at him to come back and finish what he had started but she was frozen to the spot, her voice caught in her throat. She didn't know what she couldn't believe more; the fact Sherlock had just kissed her and then left or that she had allowed him to.

* * *

"You're an idiot," Mary scolded, placing a cup of coffee in front of Sherlock. John was nodding in agreement as the detective took a grateful sip, watching Hannah crawl towards him. He lifted her effortlessly and sighed deeply.

"What else was I supposed to do?" he muttered, brushing Hannah's soft blonde hair from her face and smiling at her; she simply stared at him with her wide hazel eyes, her dummy bobbing in and out of her mouth. Mary scoffed, folding her arms.

"I'm sure you don't need any suggestions from me...John's been telling me all about your feelings," Sherlock glared at the doctor who was suddenly very interested in the ceiling, "call them reactions but you're not fooling me...the moment you finally make a move, you're too afraid to get some!"

"I-"

"Get back to 221B and give that girl something to think about. It might clear your mind, too..." Mary demanded, pointing at the door. Sherlock blushed, handing Hannah back to John, "...God knows, you both need it..."

"You don't understand. Being that close to her...whilst she was like that...in my flat, my bed. She's suffocating me and I'm allowing her," he ignored their raised eyebrows and shaking heads, "never before have I wanted to have sex with someone so much," John snorted and Mary scowled, nodding at Hannah, "she's in my head...I can't stop thinking about her and, quite frankly, it's irritating. What do I do?"

"Shag her," the Watsons replied together; Sherlock nodded at their impressionable daughter but noticed she had nodded off in John's arms. Mary shrugged and felt the need to add, "...dinner is optional. The sex, mandatory. Especially in the state the two of you are in...and do it soon. Your texts are getting obscene. Who needs Fifty Shades of Grey with you around."

Sherlock, once again, shot a scowl at his ex-flatmate who was giggling to himself. He turned to Mary and was about to consider her advice when he furrowed his brow, staring at her in confusion.

"'The two of you?' Molly's in a 'state', too..." Sherlock raised his eyebrows when Mary chuckled hard, staring at him in disbelief.

"Uh, yeah...you've got John to whine to. Guess who Molly's got..." Mary winked and Sherlock blushed even more; he didn't even know she and Molly were that close. As Mary bustled away to settle Hannah, Sherlock got to his feet and said his goodbyes to John; he had some thinking to do.

* * *

Upon his arrival at Bart's the next morning, Sherlock was relieved to find she hadn't arrived. He paused at the door to her office, wondering why he came this way; he had intended to get on with his experiments and leave before she arrived. Stupid though it was, it was guaranteed to work and his mind - not to mention body - would remain under his control. But he found himself wondering what she and Mary would have to discuss; due to Mary's responsibilities as a parent and Molly's long hours, corresponding via text would be pointless. Email, then. Sherlock sat at her chair and rolled his eyes when he guessed her password first time - **TOBY, of course. **The last thing he wanted was to breach her privacy and break their solid bond of trust, but he was getting desperate.

_Two days ago, 20:34pm_

_From: Mary Watson_

_To: Molly Hooper_

_Subject: Great idea!_

_This email suggestion was great! It's much easier and we can write more rather than-_

Sherlock closed the email, deciding there was nothing scandalous to be found. He scrolled through several more and frowned at an unread email from Mary; he shrugged and opened it without realising she'd know about it.

_From: Mary Watson_

_To: Molly Hooper_

_Subject: Re: That dream..._

_Get a grip! You need to get laid and I know someone else who needs it as much as you. He's tall, bad tempered, extremely good looking, apparently. Just your type. Yeah, it's Sherlock..._

Feeling his cheeks burn, Sherlock closed the email and scrolled through several more; he wanted to find something, _anything_ describing what she wanted to Mary. That was what women did, wasn't it? He happened upon an email Molly sent Mary yesterday afternoon and flexed his gloved fingers.

_From: Molly Hooper_

_To: Mary Watson_

_Subject: That dream..._

_Mary, I had that dream again. You know the one where he's a pirate and I'm the cabin girl...it didn't help that he was in today talking about shipyards! He was even examining ropes! It's not normal to want that._

"What are you doing?" Sherlock waved an urgent hand at John, his eyes fixed to the screen in front of him; John's eyes widened and he closed the door, "...how did you find out about the emails?"

"John, please..."

The army doctor rolled his eyes and approached the screen, biting his lip as he watched Sherlock read the incriminating email.

"It's uncanny. It's like we share fantasies..." Sherlock murmured, his grip on the mouse tightening as he continued reading. John shook his head.

"That's enough...quick, before she comes..." he attempted to switch off the computer but Sherlock was much faster.

"Hang on, I want to get it right! _'-he ties me to the Captain's chair and, well...I don't need to tell you! The best part is his crew can hear me scream for him and they know, they know I'm all his!' _Fascinating..." Sherlock's eyes glinted maliciously and John felt queasy. After several more moments, Sherlock finally switched off the computer and fanned his reddened cheeks, "...it never would have occurred to me she was into that sort of thing."

John nodded, his eyes wide; he firmly believed he was too traumatised to ever speak again. Before either men had a chance to stop it, the door was slowly opening. Sherlock got to his feet, smiling smugly and clasping his hands behind his back - all he had to do was say the right thing and he'd be waiting no longer.

**Molly, I must say...I've always admired your likeness to a lusty cabin girl.**

**Molly...as much as I enjoy our inadvertant dance, it would make me Jolly if we could Roger.**

**Babe, I'll put the shiver in your timber.**

He shook his head, frowning at the ridiculous pirate speak invading his thoughts. He opened his mouth to speak but was struck dumb as she moved into her office; even John was staring at her with raised eyebrows.

"Molly!" John announced and the pathologist jumped at the sound, turning to face them, "...I didn't know you owned a motorbike."

Molly chuckled, shifting her helmet under one arm and shaking her hair out; Sherlock's mouth still hung open, his eyes tracing over her thick, leather jacket dotted with flowers and hearts.

"Not for years but Michel downstairs gives me a lift in the mornings he's on the same shifts as me. Lucky I kept my gear, really..." she grinned, avoiding Sherlock's gaze as she dropped the helmet onto her desk followed by her backpack no doubt carrying her work clothes.

Sherlock watched hungrily as she approached, her comfortable jeans tucked into her heavy biker boots. **No more cabin girl...tough leather-clad biker Molly is...wow. **Sherlock cursed his mind once more and cleared his throat, shifting away from her as she collapsed into her chair and began pulling her boots off. Sherlock turned to John but found himself alone with the pathologist. He rolled his shoulders and stomped towards her door, turning the lock. Molly glared at him out of the corner of her eye until he was in front of her, yanking her to her feet with one hand.

"What the-" Sherlock hoisted Molly effortlessly onto her desk and braced his hands either side of her hips on the desk, staring into her eyes. Molly swallowed, looking down at him, "not again, Sherlock."

"I've locked the door...there's no escape for either of us, now..." he glanced down at her leather jacket and shook his head, smirking, "...the stockings, the towel...the image of you as my cabin girl. Now this? One might think you're doing this on purpose."

"Mmm...watching you squirm was pleasing..." Molly giggled at his frown and bit her lip, snapping the zip of her jacket down. Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, no...keep it on, please..." he stepped forwards and ran his hands tenderly along her thighs. Molly smiled, wrapping her arms loosely around his neck to pull him closer.

"Why should I?"

"I'll keep mine on," Sherlock winked and Molly rolled her eyes, leaning closer; however, Sherlock was still feeling playful, "...would you rather have it off?"

"Oh, yes please..." Molly was getting impatient; she fisted his hair fiercely and peppered his face with kisses, avoiding his lips hoping he would take control. When he didn't, Molly moved to his ear and whispered in her most seductive tone, "...can you just fuck me senseless, now?"

"Language, Miss Hooper..." he mock scolded and Molly giggled, moving down to his neck; she gasped when she felt his hands massaging her sides. **I'll give you language, Mr. Holmes. **Molly scowled and tugged on his shirt collar impatiently but Sherlock only smirked, "...make me."

"I only have half an hour before work..."

After a short pause, Sherlock's voice was nothing more than a growl, "hmm, that's good enough..."

Their lips crashed together fiercely and their fingers harshly clawed each other's clothing. There was no point in messing around as both were already worked up; they rested their foreheads together and Molly released Sherlock's belt, throwing it to the floor. She shuffled off of the desk and wriggled her jeans down, attempting to shrug the stifling leather jacket from her shoulders but found Sherlock gripping her wrists and shaking his head. Molly raised an eyebrow and, after yanking at Sherlock's trousers, pushed him hard into her desk chair; she only just managed to stop herself jumping into his lap, joining their lips together.

* * *

"Molly? Mike's looking for you! Your shift started ten minutes ago," John tapped the door nervously and turned the handle; it was unlocked which was a good sign. He found Molly at her desk, typing at her computer; she smiled at him and swallowed.

"Yeah...I know. I'm on my way, sorry, John..." the army doctor nodded, backing out of her office with a nervous smile; **where the hell has Sherlock gotten to? **Behind the closed door, Molly bent under her desk and frowned at the hiding detective, "can I have my jeans back so I can go back to work?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and gracefully crawled out from under the desk, straightening and tugging his scarf into a much tidier position. He tossed Molly's jeans back to her and ruffled his very messy hair, smirking softly as he adjusted his collar. Molly watched entranced as he slipped his belt through the hooks, re-buckling the item. Clearing her throat, Molly shimmied her jeans back up her body and ran a desperate hand through her hair. Her leather jacket was now draped over the back of her chair, her boots under the desk; she had changed into her flats whilst re-dressing. She and Sherlock stood facing each other and Molly nodded, fanning her flushed face.

"Do I look presentable?"

"You mean, 'does it look as though I just had sex in my office?'"

Sherlock chuckled at the look Molly , bringing a hand to tug her lab coat's collar into place and re-right her badge. She brought hers to wipe her lipstick smudges from his cheeks and lips, straighten his hair and re-do his top buttons. Molly bit back her smirk as she re-tucked Sherlock's shirt, painfully slowly. They shared a final deep kiss before departing her office together.

* * *

"If this doesn't work..." John muttered to his wife, shifting as they waited for Mrs. Hudson to answer the door; Sherlock sure wasn't going to do it.

"Don't worry...jealousy is an excellent factor. We'll just say that Michel guy has been flirting with Molly...Sherlock will be so consumed with thoughts of his pathologist with someone else, he'll march right over to her flat and drag her into the bedroom," she nodded firmly, hammering the door again. Several moments later, Mrs. Hudson appeared and began pulling her earplugs out.

"Asleep, Mrs. H?" John asked with a smile but the landlady shook her head, chuckling.

"No, dear, not at all. It's just...Sherlock and Molly are really loud and I can't concentrate on my book," she sighed, drawing the dressing gown tighter around herself; John and Mary's eyes shot up, "...I'm glad they've found something they enjoy...but they are very descriptive. I can never watch Treasure Island again."

She shook her head in defeat, bustling back into her living space. Mary was giggling to herself, feeling very smug and John looked petrified; he backed towards the door at the sound of a delighted squeal. He shook his head desperately, hissing frantically as Mary moved to climb the stairs; it didn't matter for the door to flat B shot open.

"If you don't mind, I'm _trying _to have sex with Molly and your interruptions are ruining the atmosphere! What do you want?"

Sherlock frowned at his friends, shifting his baggy white shirt and subtly trying to remove the black and white pirate hat he had forgotten he was wearing. John was shaking his head frantically and Mary pursed her lips together to keep from laughing.

"Nothing...in fact, John, we should be getting back to Hannah...my Mum can't look after her forever..." she jostled him from the flat, waving at Sherlock over her shoulder and shooting him a wink which he couldn't help but return.

"Now, where were-" he turned to find his black chair empty, the ropes draped around the outside; he smirked, darting eagerly towards his bedroom. He only had a split-second to gaze at an empty room before he was jumped from behind; Molly was breathing heavily in his ear.

"Come show me how ye bury yer treasure, lad!"

"You've used that one already," Sherlock replied huskily, whirling to face her and lifting her effortlessly; her limbs fit around his and she grinned cheekily.

"Wanna shiver me timbers?" She punctuated each word with a lingering kiss to his lips and Sherlock shook his head. Molly frowned and dropped to the floor, adjusting her rather itchy shirt and waistcoat combo; the skirt wasn't too bad, though. She took a step back and raked her eyes over her gorgeous captain, "pants. Off. Now."

"That'll do," he shrugged, smirking as he was tackled to the effortlessly flipped Molly over onto her back, kneeling over her and bending to take the strings of her waistcoat in his mouth; his hands were everywhere on her skirt and he winked when he caught her eye, "...prepare to be boarded."

* * *

_Well, it started that way...then it spiralled out of my control :D I hope you liked it, anyway. Thank you for reading, favouriting and following xx I'll be back next time with more dirty fun xx_


	6. Paging Nurse Hooper

_Kind of into torturous Molly right now, though they both do their fair share of teasing in this. Anyway, enough rambling, on with the chapter...xx _

* * *

Sherlock watched with his arms folded as John sighed and tutted at the X-Ray he was examining. Finally, he shook his head and turned to the Hospital bed the detective was occupying.

"How the hell did _you _of all people manage to fall down the stairs and fracture your ankle?"

"It was Molly's fault," he hissed through gritted teeth, extending his hand for the X-Ray; said pathologist had returned to work after hearing Sherlock had only suffered minor injuries, depsite his complaining. John passed the sheet with an enormous smug grin.

"Oh, yeah...I remember. You were too busy staring at her arse to look where you were going..." Sherlock lifted the X-Ray higher in an attempt to hide his blush and John snorted, shifting on his feet, "...practically gawking."

Despite his burning cheeks, Sherlock managed to reply in a very quiet mutter, "...it's still her fault."

* * *

"You want me to _what?_" Molly gaped at the detective, almost dropping the metal bowl containing Mr. Sherman's stomach. Sherlock was watching her unblinking, leaning dramatically on the crutches he'd insisted he needed.

"Move in with me...I should think that it was pretty clear," he shrugged; his curls were particularly unruly and Molly resisted the urge to reach up and tousle them further. She sighed, gritting her teeth but whatever she was about to say was ruined by the frustrating man before her, "...for the time being, until I am healed. A few weeks, months at most..." sensing she was about to hesitate once more, Sherlock rolled his eyes and decided to play the guilt card, "...it _was _your fault Molly."

"Fine but I still don't know what I did. I was nowhere near you!" Sherlock dropped his gaze to the floor momentarily but Molly didn't notice and shook her head, "...can I at least finish my work first? Besides, I'll need some stuff from my place-"

"Like what? I'll get them for you," he huffed impatiently, outstretching his hand and Molly narrowed her eyes; she replaced the bowl on the bench to free her hands to land on her hips as she stared at him suspiciously.

"I thought the whole point was the stairs-"

"There's an elevator in your building, I'll cope. Keys?" He pointedly thrust his hand forwards and Molly frowned, digging in her pockets and producing the keys; Sherlock smiled in satisfaction and hobbled from the lab, fully aware he was being cautiously watched by Molly.

* * *

Mary seated herself opposite Molly in the cafeteria that lunchtime and her grin was very much like her husband's. Molly attempted to ignore her by concentrating on her own lunch and Mary rolled her eyes, her hands clasped around her coffee cup.

"So...did he tell you why it was your fault?" At Molly's head shake, Mary smirked, "...God, what's going on with you two? All this flirting...it's sickening, really. John and I are quite scared to be in the same room as you, to be honest. either you end up shouting at each other because you're so damned sexually frustrated or-"

"I'm moving in with him...temporarily," she added quickly after Mary raised her eyebrows; after several shocked moments, Mary returned her cup to the table and drummed her fingers against the table.

"Well...that's one way to do it, I suppose..."

Molly frowned, swallowing another bite of her sandwich, "...he's injured, Mary, that'll be the last thing on his mind."

"Come on, even Sherlock Holmes can cope on his own with a broken ankle. It's obvious he wants you to play nurse...so you _play nurse_..." her eyes twinkled devilishly and Molly choked on her water, frantically shaking her head.

"I-I can't do that...he'd lose all respect for me..." she sighed longingly, dropping her head onto her propped up hand. Mary rolled her eyes, leaning forwards.

"What happens in 221B, _stays _in 221B. Fight dirty. This is war and, if you want to win, you're going to need armour," she winked and Molly spluttered on more of her water; several other staff members were staring at them in confusion.

"What? You're awful," she giggled, swatting at her friend's arm playfully despite Mrs. Watson's plan already making a home in her brain.

* * *

After her long shift at Bart's, Molly caught a cab to Baker Street, already wondering how Sherlock managed the stairs without her; maybe Mary was right after all. Despite the annoyance she knew she about to face, Molly couldn't help but feel a little excited that she'd be sharing Sherlock's home for the time being. When she finally arrived, she was hit with the intense burning heat of 221B; **has it always been this hot here? **Sherlock seemed unfazed from his position on the sofa, surrounded by pillows and empty coffee cups; his casted ankle was propped at the end of the sofa and he was busy tapping away on his phone. Molly attempted to conceal her plastic bag behind her as she fanned herself, moving into the kitchen.

"It's boiling in here..." Sherlock momentarily lifted his gaze and smirked, quickly returning to the phone when Molly looked his way, "are you alright?"

Sherlock simply shook his head, dropping his phone on the coffee table with a defeated sigh; Molly narrowed her eyes when she noticed Sherlock watching her, pouting and shooting her the puppy dog eyes. Rolling her eyes, Molly bent to fiddle with the kettle and ignored Sherlock's satisfied snigger; she was keen for a distraction from his gorgeous self-pity so saught out the bag he had brought from her flat - it had been carelessly abandoned on John's old chair. She bit her lip, not wanting Sherlock to see what was in the bag she placed on the kitchen table as she approached and began rifling through the other one, her eyebrows rising higher with each item she found. There were several changes of clothes and many, _many _toiletries - **well, he wants me to be clean, I suppose **- but she couldn't find her pyjamas or any spare underwear anywhere. Gritting her teeth, Molly straightened and whirled to face the detective, biting back her smirk when she noticed him hastily turn back to his phone.

"Sherlock? Where's the rest? My, um...underwear and pyjamas?"

"I'm not in the habit to go rooting through women's delicates, Molly," he caught her eye and that smirk was back; oh, he knew what he was doing and Molly breathed out in anticipation. **So be it, it's war. **Molly nonchalantly strolled into the kitchen and seized her waiting bag, unable to believe what she was about to do; she could feel Sherlock's eyes follow her into his bedroom.

* * *

_He didn't pack any underwear or pyjamas for me...and the flat is boiling hot. Mollyx_

_I think he was looking again. Mollyx_

_I could be wrong. But I'm wearing the damned thing, like you said. Mollyx_

It was these series of texts that prompted Mary to abandon trying to wrestle her daughter into the bathtub and call her best friend. Molly paced the bedroom, speaking in a low voice and stopping in front of the mirror.

"Mary...i-it's miles too short..." Molly tugged at the bottom of the saucy blue uniform, twirling to get the view from behind; it barely covered her.

"Exactly..._no, darling, put that down, it's not yours_..." Molly rolled her eyes as Mary mumbled something she couldn't quite hear before she returned to their conversation, "...sorry. Anyway, that's the point! _Yes, sweetie...go and show Daddy. _Sorry about that, Mols...where was I? Oh, yeah...that detective has a thing for you...especially your arse. How else do you think he broke his ankle? Here's a tip: don't bend over in the vicinity of Sherlock Holmes!"

"Really? It really was me?" Molly smiled, feeling slightly better about the whole thing; she had played it safe with the outfit and only undone one or two buttons.

"Oh, yeah! It took John to actually slap him on the shoulder yesterday...this was _after _you'd left. I think you were wearing that skirt," Mary added thoughtfully and Molly blushed; she jumped when Mary shrieked something incomprehensible at her daughter before speaking lower, "did you get the stockings too?"

"Yes, that's another thing..." as she spoke, Molly pulled said items higher and felt her cheeks burn at the ridiculousness of the situation, "...they're very uncomfortable, Mary. Sherlock doesn't strike me as the kind that would _go _for a nurse!"

"No, but he's the type that goes for you...come on, why are you so nervous? You're sexy, fun and Sherlock really likes you. You both just need a push...this is the push. It's...it's empowering, believe me. John liked it," Molly grimaced but gave a small chuckle when she heard John grumble in the background, "now, get out there and wipe that smile from the smug bastard's face..." Molly opened her mouth to protest but was cut off by an annoyed order from the living room.

"Black, two sugars...please..."

Molly clenched her fists and smiled devilishly, "...fine. Consider this the last you'll hear from me for a few days..." before she hung up, she faintly heard Mary give a shout of triumph, followed by a hearty declaration of 'that's my girl!'

* * *

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and fidgeted uncomfortably as he awaited Molly's return; he was determined to make Molly suffer for making him think despicably inappropriate thoughts about her. That was why she was here: punishment...nothing else. He didn't want to stare at her, unquestioned and freely, in his own home. He certainly didn't want her to realise how powerful an aphrodiasiac nursing someone was, jump him and lavish him with the affection she's always felt. Sherlock prided himself on his subtlety, otherwise he'd be in a very difficult position; if Molly knew, she'd use it against him...destroy him from the inside out. He was only partially aware he had purposely forgotten her clothes, not to mention turned the flat's heating up so it would tempt her to- **no, no thank you. None of that. No. **Sherlock took several deep breaths, clenching and unclenching his fists to stop his rebellious mind. At the sound of his door opening, Sherlock quickly scanned the flat in an effort to find something for her to do. **Why invite her if you're just going to ignore her? **His mind constantly brought up this question and he had no idea how to answer it; he didn't have to. **He wants to look but is afraid to touch. **He made the decision to punish Molly for being so alluring even though his logic made no sense. He looked up and the words he had been about to say muddled in his brain as his eyes landed on her sensuous appearance.

"Two coffee, black sugars," Molly felt a rush of confidence as Sherlock physically shook himself, blinking at her repeatedly; he didn't even attempt to correct himself, "...why...what, why are you wearing that?"

"You wanted a nurse..." she winked, feeling utterly ridiculous until Sherlock audibly swallowed; his eyes were trained on the sheer length of her legs, feeling the burn from not blinking, "...you've got one."

She leaned against the wall in a way she hoped looked seductive when Sherlock tried and failed to remove his gaze from her; he was taking in every detail, from the very Molly-like hairstyle, to the more Molly-like button pattern and finishing at the _far too _Molly-like stocking-covered legs. Sherlock cleared his throat, clasping his hands in an attempt to ignore her; this was abandoned when she started to twirl...slowly. Before he knew it, she was on her knees beside him and caressing his chin with a feather-light touch that made his skin burn; she smirked as she gently brought his mouth closed.

"That's better...you were almost salivating..." she whispered into his ear, running her gentle fingers through his soft, luscious hair; he was so close to her, Molly could smell the tobacco he was not supposed to have and the many cups of coffee he had consumed. She could feel him watching her from the corner of his eyes. Finally, he released a deep breath, his words coming out much deeper than either of them anticipated.

"Can you blame me? This is what you wanted...this reaction. You're not going to end my suffering any time soon, are you?"

Molly simply ignored his desperation and lowered her gaze down the rest of his long body; she bit her lip and turned to face him, bringing her fingers to trace over his lips.

"Does it hurt?" She purred, stroking his pouty lips softly; Sherlock swallowed, nodding vigorously both as an answer and an encouragement, "...much?"

"Immensely, yes," he had opened his mouth as little as possible, not wanting Molly to stop the delicious torture she was putting his body through. She leaned closer, hovering inches away from him.

"It _was_ my fault," she muttered and this was followed up by an immediate forceful nod; Molly shivered as her nose brushed against Sherlock's burning cheek, "...perhaps I should make it feel better."

"God, yes..." his answer surprised them both but not as much as Molly getting to her feet abruptly and tilting her head towards him. She glanced down at his electric blue eyes blinking in lustful confusion at her; she smiled.

"Takeaway, then, since neither of us are in the mood to cook? Chips?"

All Sherlock could do was nod and blink rapidly as Molly moved into his bedroom, swinging her hips exaggeratingly; she smirked when she heard a thud followed by a gasp of pain, no doubt caused by his falling off the sofa in an attempt to watch her leave.

* * *

_You should have seen what I just did...oh, it wasn't fair...but it felt so good after all the frustration he's put me through. Sexual and otherwise. Mollyx_

Molly tossed her phone onto the bed, biting her lip as she stared into the mirror; it was a while before Mary graced her with a reply.

_I am very glad you are enjoying yourself and no, it wasn't fair. You are not the only one who is frustrated. SH_

Molly dropped her phone with a squeak, cursing her own stupidity. She paced the bedroom urgently, shooting her phone glares every now and again. It took her several moments to pluck up the courage to face the music and send him another message.

_You deserve it. Mollyx_

_Come back in here and I'll give you what you deserve. SH_

Molly chuckled at his reply and felt more than relieved when the doorbell rang. Breathing out and straightening her uniform, Molly moved through the living room; her heart fluttered when Sherlock folded his arms expectantly, shooting her several longing looks - he had lifted himself clumsily back onto the sofa and was half-slumped against the cushions. The look of disappointment on his face was clear as day when Molly ignored him in favour of collecting their takeaway. The driver raised his eyebrows at her appearance and Molly frowned, removing the money from her chest pocket.

"Broken ankle..."

"Hey, it's his money, love..." he muttered, accepting the notes from Molly's outstretched hand before handing over the meal and disappearing as fast as he could. Molly frowned and darted back inside, slamming the door behind her.

Returning to the baking flat, Molly bit back her smirk when she saw Sherlock fidgeting in his attempts to 'get comfortable'; Molly knew full well he was trying to adjust himself to see the kitchen better and therefore watch her prepare the dinner. This brilliant plan was abandoned when Molly approached with her arms folded and head shaking.

"Now, Mr. Holmes...we need to get you more comfortable, don't we?"

He grumbled at her a-little-too-sultry tone, watching in desire as she turned her back on him to fluff his ankle cushion; Sherlock was certain she was bending more than necessary and made a mental note to have a stern word with John about 'secrecy'. His eyes locked onto her desirably soft-looking skin, holding his breath as her skirt travelled higher as she fluffed the cushion. Soon, she was hauling him into a more relaxing position; he was lighter than she expected and she swallowed, making a mental note to feed him up a bit. Straightening, Molly attempted to move away only to be pulled into a straddle on Sherlock's lap.

"Don't. Move."

"I have to prepare the dinner," Molly replied, rolling her eyes towards the bags on the kitchen table before settling back onto his darkened gaze. Sherlock swallowed as she reached up carefully to twist a single button open, slowly bending to attach her lips to his neck. Smirking devilishly, Sherlock trailed his hands over the backs of her legs as her lips climbed higher. His hands settled on the cause of his accident and Molly raised an eyebrow, pulling away to hover less than an inch away from his lips, biting her own. Sherlock was more than surprised when his hands fell beside him due to Molly's climbing from his lap; he subconsciously licked his lips as Molly readjusted her hitched up skirt. He watched her walk away and chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief.

"You're a fucking tease," he breathed, ruffling his hair desperately. If Molly was surprised by his language, she didn't show it; instead, she reached the takeaway bags and carried them towards his bedroom.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she winked over her shoulder, the door closing softly behind her; Sherlock's imagination was working overtime as he thought about all she could be doing in there - he attempted to struggle to his feet, more than keen to find out for himself...

* * *

He had hopped towards the door and stood outside, frowning and straining his ears for any sounds; he could hear nothing so assumed it was safe...what for, he wasn't sure. The temptation was too strong and Sherlock cautiously peered through the tiny gap, immediately groaning when he noticed the nurse's uniform carelessly discarded on the floor. He rolled his eyes at his own stupidity and pushed the door completely open, causing Molly to jump in fright and knock the empty pizza box to the floor and haul the slipping sheet to cover her chest.

"Well, you took your time," she muttered, relaxing slightly and patting the space next to her. Sherlock frowned and folded his arms, leaning against the wall so as not to lose his balance.

"Do you usually sleep naked in people's beds when you look after them?"

"I'm not asleep...or _naked_," she sighed, pulling the sheets back to reveal her underwear and the effect it had on Sherlock; realising what she had just done, Molly hastily covered herself and cleared her throat, "...if you want me to sleep on the sofa-"

"No, plenty of room for two..." he waved a dismissive hand and nervously approached her, settling down heavily on the bed; he turned quickly to face Molly and she held her breath, especially when he began leaning towards her. She released the breath in one sharp go after he completely disregarded her in favour of a pizza slice from the abandoned box next to her. Molly frowned, wishing she could look away from his mouth as he ate delicately. It was when he sat up straight and concentrated on his shirt buttons that Molly swallowed and stammered.

"Wh-what are you doing?"

"Getting undressed, of course," he smiled cheekily and Molly bit her lip, flitting her eyes around the room awkwardly; daring a peek at him, Molly was surprised to see he had climbed in next to her and was now wearing a simple t-shirt.

For what felt like hours they simply lay in silence, not daring to move for reasons they didn't really know. sometime later, Molly must have drifted off to sleep for she was thrashing in her attempts to get comfortable and it was driving Sherlock mad. He caught her flailing arm in the dark and effectively woke her.

"Do you mind? I'm trying to think..."

"Yeah...well I'm trying to get comfortable," she grumbled, unable to keep back her yawn. She wished she was brave enough to make a move, wished _he _would make the move...she hoped something would happen soon or-

"Maybe this will help you relax," Molly's eyes widened as Sherlock adjusted the sheets so he was hovering over her, bending to press gentle kisses over her neck; Molly held her breath and shook her head in disbelief. **Great, now my dreams are taunting me, **"...a dream. I'm glad you dream about me."

His deep voice felt so real vibrating against her skin, his fingers trailing over the softness of her arms. Molly swallowed and shook her head once more. **If this is a dream...I have nothing to worry about. **Her hands travelled over his chest and under his shirt, bringing it over his head, after he had managed to pry his hands away. He smirked as her hands found his hair, pulling him down against her body. Molly's sighs increased in volume as Sherlock's lips trailed lower, across her stomach and over her chest. She dropped her hands to his back, humming at the distinct muscles she could feel and giggling when he squirmed at her feather-light touch tracing his fine torso.

"God, you're fit," she gasped when he bit down at her throat.

Sherlock chuckled and Molly rolled her eyes; **it must be a dream, Sherlock wouldn't have let that go without having something smug to say. **She arched into him as he reached underneath for her bra, her feet brushing against his as she did. There was the final proof: his ankle cast had disappeared. Sherlock raised an eyebrow, knowing Molly couldn't see and chose to tug her now loose bra free; he wished he had the strength to switch himself away momentarily to turn the lamp on. Molly was now panting, desperately running her hands over him and insistently rubbing against him; Sherlock rolled his eyes at her neediness, wanting to explore her for several minutes longer.

"Get in me now," she rambled desperately, not realising Sherlock had only just managed to keep in his snort of laughter. He lifted his head suddenly, glancing down at the woman he couldn't see.

"Pardon?"

**Why is this Sherlock more difficult than the real one? **Molly grumbled impatiently and tugged him back down to her, sighing happily at the clumsy, hurried kisses she was recieving. Her nails dug into his back and she leaned up to where she assumed his ear was.

"Just...do it..." she hissed, completely losing herself and Sherlock scowled impatiently. She was still grinding herself against him and he it was beginning to show; he was both pleased and irritated he had left his pyjama bottoms on the floor.

"Do what?" He replied teasingly, his voice deeper than usual. Molly's nails were stinging to skin on his back and they were certain their sighs could be heard downstairs.

"Fuck me, you bastard," she moaned, especially when his mouth returned to her neck; she was certain he could see every curve, every movement, every single reaction his touch brought out of her. She could feel him inch nearer and she bit her lip tightly.

"Better," he muttered, stealing several more teasing kisses; Molly was practically hissing in her impatience, hurling curse words at him whilst running her hands over his sensuous body.

"You arse...it's not _fair_..." she groaned when his teeth moved over skin, his hands busy working at her underwear; suddenly, Molly pushed him away and rolled over to straddle his lap. He rolled his eyes and grinned, his fingers dancing across her stomach.

"Now, now...what's the magic word?"

Bending low, carefully making sure not to headbutt him, Molly brushed her nose against his cheek as she whispered into his ear seductively.

"Sherlock...please..." she gasped when she felt a pair of strong hands at her hips, shifting her backwards slightly; he really was strong.

"Was that so hard?"

Molly rolled her eyes, adjusting her weight and position until she slowly lowered herself, her hands gripping Sherlock's hips supportively. Molly bit her lip tightly and rolled her eyes when it became clear she'd be doing all the work; Sherlock appeared unresponsive although his fingers were positively bruising her waist. However, as she attemped to move, Molly found herself thrown backwards and Sherlock _definitely _responding with the intention of making her scream the building down.

"Did you really think I'd let you break me?"

He tutted with all the composure of someone who was defintely NOT pleasuring someone else; Molly threw her arm over her mouth in an effort to muffle her cries, her legs wrapping around his waist to keep him close to her. Sherlock was determined to hear her despite his own grunts being delivered against the skin of her chest. He tore her arm away from her mouth, pinning it above her head just in time to hear a beautiful moan followed by some lengthy abuse and foul language. Her free hand wound into his hair and was not gentle with tugging and pulling at the strands. Soon, Molly had pried her other hand away and was resting her hands over his back and she was more than surprised when Sherlock swallowed her final cry with his lips covering hers. His hands were harsh over her legs and through her hair, travelling up and back down it's careful path. Her insides flooded with warmth and Molly gasped in pleasure, pressing tender kisses around his neck. As everything returned to Earth, Sherlock collapsed next to her and proceeded to stare wide-eyed into the pitch black of the bedroom, his breathing eratic and heartbeat pounding in his ears. Molly blinked, running a hand through her tangled hair and shifting her sore body into a more comfortable position. **That was the most vivid dream I have ever had. **She grinned slyly to herself but her grin wasn't as wide as the detective drifting off to sleep next to her.

* * *

The morning came and Molly awoke with a start, sitting up straight and darting her eyes around the room; she found her bra on the floor next to her and the space next to her was absent of a second body. Something wasn't right; she was sore all over and her hips displayed distinctive purple marks. Molly groaned and buried her face in her hands, embarrassment flooding over her. **It was real...****_it was real! _**She momentarily lifted her gaze and tilted her head in confusion; **it can't have been...he wasn't wearing his cast.** Feeling utterly confused, Molly gathered her discarded underwear and reluctantly shoved the nurse's uniform over her head; she wondered what torturous horrors awaited her as she entered the kitchen. She relaxed substantially when she saw Sherlock sprawled peacefully on the sofa, absorbed in his mind palace.

"Good morning, Sherlock," she grinned, gathering cups and switching the kettle on; Sherlock abruptly returned from his mind palace and returned her grin, folding his arms.

"Good _morning, _Nurse...did you have a nice dream...sorry, sleep?" He inclined his head towards her and Molly raised her eyebrows, shaking her head when she saw his castless ankle.

"You utter-"

"I didn't think it was possible to be thoroughly shagged back to health. Then again, I'm not a doctor...or a nurse," he winked, barely managing to keep his chuckle at bay when Molly dropped her head into her hands, "...'get in me now?' I thought you'd be a little more subtle than that. Calling me names, too, was-"

"You utter bastard! You made me do all that and there's nothing even _wrong_ with you!" She hovered over him and slapped his arm playfully. He rolled his eyes.

"I didn't make you do anything apart from move in with me. The uniform was entirely down to you," he reminded her with a slight eyebrow raise. Molly simply pouted and Sherlock sighed, "...I did actually fall, you know. Your gorgeous arse practically pushed me down the stairs."

"I saw the X-Ray-"

"You saw _an _X-Ray," he smiled smugly, his hands gripping her elbows and gently lowering her onto his lap. Molly moved her lips to the pulse on his neck, her words spilling over his skin.

"You forgot my clothes, turned up the heating and had sex with me...because of my arse?" She teased, licking over his neck and giggling when she felt the detective's hands roaming over her back.

"No...that was the final straw. I've...well, I've been thinking about you a lot recently and...I was looking for a reason to get you over here. Asking was too basic..." he smirked, moving his hands slowly to her chest. Molly rolled her eyes, cupping his cheeks affectionately and resting her forehead against his.

"Nothing is simple with you, is it?" She caught his lips in a passionate tender kiss, her hands combing through his hair as his popped the buttons of her uniform and dragging the zip underneath down. She gasped, pulling away, "…it's broad daylight, Sherlock! The curtains are drawn!"

"I couldn't see you last night but...God, I bet you're fit," he smirked playfully, dropping his head to her neck and getting to his feet; Molly wrapped her legs around his waist as he manoeuvred them to his bedroom, "…I have a theory that the added sense will serve for excellent performance enhancement."

Molly giggled as she was dropped onto the bed, biting her lip in anticipation as he threw the bedroom curtains open; when he returned to her, the uniform was completely undone but still on her body – Sherlock sure wasn't going to complain.

* * *

John yawned and rubbed the back of his neck, collecting the paper with a yawn; he pressed a kiss to Mary forehead and ruffled his young daughter's tufty curls. He accepted the coffee and smiled when Mary tried to coax a particularly mushy looking breakfast into their daughter. He sipped the coffee only to immediately spit it out after observing the front page.

_A NIGHT OF RAUNCHY SEX FOR SHERLOCK HOLMES?_

**Why do I buy The Sun? **Mary was blinking at him in confusion whilst Hannah giggled delightedly.

"What's the matter, dar-" Mary's mouth dropped open as she read the heading, holding back her proud grin as she saw Molly in the nurse's uniform outside 221B. She shrugged, turning back to Hannah, "…he wanted a nurse, John. She played nurse."

"Please, don't…jeeze," he muttered, turning the page to find the small article underneath another blurry image of Molly, "…listen to this _'it seems the great detective is a bachelor no more if these scandalous images are anything to go by. No word yet as to who this woman is but our sources believe she and the detective shared a night of passion after sharing a takeaway together. She hasn't been seen leaving the flat as of yet.'_ How can they possibly know that? Were they _there?_"

"Think about it, John…you have a beautiful woman – who you just happen to have the hots for - sharing your house. Would _you _let her leave without shagging her senseless?"

Hannah gurgled delightedly and John rolled his eyes, leaning forwards to kiss his wife, "…no, I suppose not."

* * *

_Yes...nothing is ever simple with our Sherlock, is it? *sigh* Anyways, I hope you enjoyed the chapter (plenty more to come, of course ;) xx Thank you very much for reading xx_


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